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From 



PS 3519 


.05 F7 


1908 


Copy 1 



Quiet Valleys 




THOMAS S. JONES, Jr. 




6mP $&$ -ft 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



From Quiet Valleys 



BOOKS BY MR. JONES 



The Path o' Dreams 
The Rose-Jar 

From Quiet Valleys 






From 
Quiet Valleys 

THOMAS S. JONES, JR. 




Clinton, New York 
GEORGE WILLIAM BROWNING 

1908 



Copyright 1907 by Thomas S. Jones, Jr. 



•,'SY of CONGRESS* 
Iwu Codes Reeetved 
OCT 26 190? 

l CUSS 4 XXc, No. 
COPY B. 






The Author desires to thank the Editors of Scribner's 
Magazine, Ainslee's Magazine, the Bohemian, the Boston 
Transcript, Lippincott's Magazine, the Smart Set, and the 
other publications in which the poems in this collection 
originally appeared, for their kind permission to reprint. 






To 

L. J. A. 



CONTENTS 




WHERE SLEEP THE GODS 


9 


THE PINES 


10 


ROMANCE 


11 


A DESERTED VILLAGE 


14 


WOOD-LURE 


15 


THE LITTLE GHOSTS 


17 


OUR ANGELS 


18 


BY A RUINED FOUNTAIN 


19 


DAPHNE 


21 


REALIZATION 


22 


BEFORE DAWN 


23 


TRAUMEREI 


24 


LARGESS 


25 


IN DAYS OF OLD 


27 


AT END 


28 


AN OLD INN 


29 


THE GARDEN OF THE SEA 


30 


COVERT 


31 


APRIL 


33 


I SHALL FORGET 


34 


HOME 


35 


THE DOOR OF SPRING 


37 


WITHAL 


38 


WHITE LILAC 


39 



CONTENTS (Continued) 



MY GARDEN 


40 


HARBOR 


41 


NOCTURNE 


42 


I KNOW A QUIET VALE 


43 


THE STREAM 


44 


BEFORE A DELPHIC SHRINE 


46 


THE POET 


47 


SOMETIMES 


48 


NIGHT 


49 


PASTORAL 


51 


REVERIE 


52 


WILL-O'-THE-WISP 


53 


OCTOBER 


56 


SANCTUARY 


57 


AFTERWARDS 


58 


THRENODY 


59 


AMOR MYSTICUS 


60 


AN OLD SONG 


61 


PASTEL 


62 


INDIAN SUMMER 


64 


THE END OF AUTUMN 


65 



Across the hill, across the downs. 
And past the little straggling towns. 
And by the river to the sea, 
For Spring's awake in A ready. 

Across the down, across the hills 
All laughing with the daffodils — 
All laughing in a windy -rain, 
Because the Spring has come again. 

It's out and far for you and me 
Over the country merrily ; 
It's out and far away from home 
Upon the fragrant, fresh-turned loam. 

Yet whither fare or whither go, 
No thought have we — we only know 
A bird calls from the greenwood tree, 
And Spring's awake in Arcady ! 



From Quiet Valleys 



WHERE SLEEP THE GODS 

Tread softly* through this vale of asphodel, 
Nor let harsh echoes wake its hallowed spell; 

Peace lingers here and tenderly has flung 
Her mantle o'er the myrtle and the rose — 
Mayhap, beneath our very feet — who knows ? — 

They sleep, the gods, who long ago were 
young! 

Unknown to them the tumult and the stress 
Of flying years — only f orgetf ulness ; 

Unmindful e'en when all the glade has rung 
With the sweet strain bi some rapt nightingale, 
For little now can loveliness avail — 

They sleep, the gods, who long ago were 
young ! 

So softly tread this vale of asphodel, 
Nor let the echoes wake its ancient spell, 

Where once a golden song was gladly sung ; 
Here, they are free from memory and pain, 
Here, till they come unto their own again, 

They sleep, the gods, who long ago were 
young ! 



10 From Quiet Valleys 

THE PINES 

In lofty galleries of greenery 

They rise and meet the azure of the sky, 
A pillared nave, whose arches frail and high, 

Breathe with an organ's solemn melody; 

Now like the minor surging of the sea, 
Or low and faint as wings that startle by — 
As sweet-tuned winds that quaveringly sigh 

Adown dim aisles of cloistered pageantry. 

While through the stretches of this lovely fane 
The swaying censers shed a drowsy smell, 
Heavy with some rare fragrance from afar ; 
Upon the pavement falls the sunset's stain, 
The dusk creeps on . . softly a twilight bell . . 
And now, the altar-candle of a star ! 






From Quiet Valleys 11 

ROMANCE 

Sometimes I see her at the break of dawn, 
When first the gold is splashed upon the green, 

Her light feet tripping o'er the dewy lawn, 
Unfilieted her hair of yellow sheen ; 

And oft I hear a laugh upon the breeze 

As when slim Dryads whisper through the trees, 
Or lure sad Echo from her dark demesne. 

And oft I hear a song, unknown and sweet, 
A fairy-strain that wanders down the vale, 

Long ere the wind has stirred amid the wheat 
Or yet the sun has raised his burning grail ; 

A croon more strangely wrought with witchery 

Than elfin lutes that sound across the sea — 
A song far sweeter than the nightingale. 



12 From Quiet Valleys 

And yet her eyes — but once within the cool 
Of the soft green that lights the silent wood, 

Where lilies float upon a dusky pool 

And tall trees keep their ancient solitude — 

But once within the magic of the mere 

I met her hurried glance of startled fear, 
As naked in all loveliness she stood. 

Is she the Naiad of a sylvan grot, 

Luring me whither where her fountain drips 
That I may thus forget and be forgot 

Forever in the fragrance of her lips ; 
Or mayhap, Daphne, with unloosened hair 
Blown wild about her on the perfumed air 

And falling in a glory to her hips ? 



From Quiet Valleys 13 

Always beyond, but always near — alas ! 

In Spring's first kiss, in Autumn's sullen fire, 
Her azure shadow lingers on the grass 

And I seek on with steps that never tire ; 
For at the last in some dim forest-place 
I may behold the wonder of her face 

And hold her close in arms of strong desire I 



14 From Quiet Valleys 

A DESERTED VILLAGE 

It stands upon the edge of yesterday, 

Remote, forgotten in the years since sped, 
Its ghostly houses all untenanted, 

Its moss-grown streets fallen to rank decay ; 

Sometimes a vagrant sheep may idly stray 
Adown its lonely lanes, but never tread 
Of human step — none save the simple dead, 

Who sleep behind the hill the hours away. 

For this I think — that in the first of Spring, 
Or 'neath the wonder of the Summer's moon, 

When all things speak of Youth's remembering, 
When all is fair because the time is June — 

They come again and wander to and fro, 

Those quaint, dear people of the long ago ! 



From Quiet Valleys 15 

WOOD-LURE 

Ever the voice of the forest is calling, 

Calling me back to its silence and shade, 
Luring the sound of a cool water falling 
Deep through the gloom of a slumbering 
glade ; 
Drowsy the song when the sunbeams are 
thronging, 
Thunderous, wild, when the winds ride the 
rain — 
Heart o' me, heart o' me, ever the longing, 
O to be back in the greenwood again ! 

O to be back in the sheltering cover, 

Where but a bird-note is borne on the breeze, 
And lonely Echo seeks vainly her lover 

Far in the fastness of whispering trees ; 
Still in the twilight when south-winds are 
crooning, 

Down by the pool where the shadows have 
lain, 
Crouches the goat-god, his broken reeds tuning — 

O to be back in the greenwood again ! 



16 From Quiet Valleys 

Here I am sick of the rush of the masses, 

Sick of the din from the mart and the street, 
Is there no path rankly-tangled with grasses, 

Are there no pastures for stone-weary feet ? 
Give me a staff and a scrip for the faring, 

Give me the stretch of a June-favored lane, 
Heart o' me, heart o' me, never a-caring, 

We shall be back in the greenwood again ! 



From Quiet Valleys 17 

THE LITTLE GHOSTS 

Where are they gone, and do you know 
If they come back at fall o' dew, 

The little ghosts of long ago, 
That long ago were you ? 

And all the songs that ne'er were sung, 
And all the dreams that ne'er came true, 

Like little children dying young — 
Do they come back to you ? 



18 From Quiet Valleys 

OUR ANGELS 

Above they stand divinely confident, 
Their faces glorified upon the height, 
For they have seen and known the great 
God-light, 

And they who see are evermore content ; 

They, too, once wandered in the valley pent 
With all life's stress, only they had the sight 
To see beyond the darkness of the night 

A faint gleam of the dawn's vast wonderment. 

They are the angels, who show us the way, 
Guiding our footsteps through the stretch of 
time, 

Smiling the while what hours the skies are gray, 
Making the hillside easier to climb — 

Our angels, who upon the earth have trod, 

Yet keep our hearts until they rest with God ! 



: 



From Quiet Valleys 19 

BY A RUINED FOUNTAIN 

Here where the marble shows its stain of gold 
And where the moss has spread a cloth of 

green, 
Here where the rushes sweep the mirrored 
sheen 
And lilies all their chastity unfold — 

Where, when the silver beauty of the stars 
Fleck through the surface on a thousand wings, 
Or when the waking dawn her largess flings 

Upon the pool and its pale nenuphars — 

Alone she lingers in her ancient grot, 

Dreaming of other days, what time the hours 
Pass by her sleeping deep amid the flowers — 

A weary Naiad of an age forgot. 



20 From Quiet Valleys 

Only at dusk when first the crescent moon 
Shows a wan face above the fountain's rim, 
She lifts her dripping body, white and slim, 

And to the stillness sings an olden croon. 

O strange it is and sweet and full of pain, 
Of dead Romance and Myth and Mystery ; 
The distant echoes answer hauntingly, 

The winds awake . . . then all is still again ! 



From Quiet Valleys 21 

DAPHNE 

Do you not hear her song 
When rosy showers fall 
And forest whispers call 
Along ? 

Do you not hear her feet 
Now faint among the leaves — 
Or is 't the wind that grieves 
So sweet ? 

Do you her face not see 
Mid laurels of a glade 
Where sunbeams pass — half maid, 
Half tree ? 



22 From Quiet Valleys 

REALIZATION 

As one who journeys on a golden quest, 
The road behind, the dreary miles outdone, 
Only a step beyond the haven won, 

The sought-f or prize of all the loveliest ; 

Forgotten then the hours of vain unrest, 
The lonely search has ended with the sun, 
A new life for the old is just begun, 

A life unlimited, the real, the best. 

So I have come before the little gate ; 

The road was long and rocky was the way, 
Yet these but led unto the perfect day, 

I know at last, although the hour is late — 
And oh, the stretch of country and the green, 
The laughing hills and all the flowers between ! 



From Quiet Valleys 23 

BEFORE DAWN 

I cannot quite remember when you came, 
Only it seemed the softness of your lips, 
The moment's pressure of your finger-tips, 

Stirred by and touched me with a burning flame. 

As from the dusk a silver-moth afloat, 
Startles the darkness with its radiance, 
Thus have I known dream-wise your 
countenance 

And felt your tender kiss upon my throat. 

And I have heard you softly speak my name ; 
Strange, strange it is and stranger to forget, 
So very much is clear — and yet, and yet, 

I cannot quite remember when you came ! 



24 From Quiet Valleys 

TRAUMEREI 

There is a place of dreams, Dear, a place of dreams 
Where you and I, my head upon your breast, 
Ride toward the South. Far in the yellow West 
There is a fading light, while o'er the moon-lit sky 
The clouds fly from the wind ; and you and I 
Just dream together, dreaming thus to rest 
Forever and a day in that far place of dreams. 



From Quiet Valleys 25 



LARGESS 



To see young April on her golden way, 
Rosy with that first flush of early Spring, 

Her lips a flame to meet the mouth of May, 
Her laden arms, a fragrant offering. 

Or deep within the ferny woods to hear 
Soft echoes from the glades Aeolian ; 

The whirring flight of Dian's brazen spear, 
The liquid notes amid the reeds of Pan. 

Slim Summer standing in a sea of corn, 
Her yellow hair a vagrant to the breeze, 

A crown of crimson poppies lightly worn, 
Luring the ardor of the booming bees. 

And Autumn cinctured by a russet gown, 
Her raven locks entwined with marigold, 

Oft straying where the fields have burned to 
brown, 
Or rustling through the stillness of the wold. 



26 From Quiet Valleys 

These, these and more of this wide treasury, 
Wherein pale Beauty rears her perfect fane ; 

Like some rich jewel-freighted argosy 
That sweeps the silver of the Grecian main. 

These, these and more — the wonder of the dawn,, 
The riot of rare tones in blossom-time, 

The stain of shadows on a sun-rift lawn, 
The call of waters in a dulcet chime. 

Ah, to have known such wealth of loveliness, 
Though through a web of pain and prison bars, 

Drunken the wine from out the dripping press, 
And heard the singing of the sun and stars ! 



From Quiet Valleys 27 

IN DAYS OF OLD 

Of all the ages' gain, the ages' loss, 

A wealth of wonders and so much away — 
When now hears one the woodland Elves at 
play, 

Or angry Dryads where tall tree-tops toss. 

No more they lightly tread the dewy moss 
As danced they through cool haunts in green 

array, 
But rank and lost the paths in lone decay 

Which fairy footsteps once were wont to cross. 

O happy Greeks, who knew the gods so well, 
To you I burn my sacrificial fire. 
Again reveal the mystic hidden rune 
Whereby to find the slopes of asphodel — 
Ah, then to hear Apollo charm his lyre 
And see Diana 'neath the sickle moon I 



28 From Quiet Valleys 

AT END 

Ah, how far we journeyed here, 
Vagrant farers once were we, 

Countries proud and waters drear 
Called us ever luringly — 

Now 'tis all a story told, 

We were young, who are so old. 

Then our blood was red with fire, 
We knew well of Joy and Pain, 

How we sought our mad desire, 

How we wept when Love was slain ! 

Now we wonder wistfully 

That the foolish two were we. 

We have come to Journey's End, 
Where the shadows always stay 

And the still winds scarcely bend 
The tall grasses through the day. 

Now all Joy and Sorrow cease, 

We have reached the Vale of Peace ! 






From Quiet Valleys 29 



AN OLD INN 



The moon is white through the old inn door, 

And the roses gray in the light o' the moon ; 
How pale the flecks on the rotting floor 
Where the crickets croon. 

Hardly the wind stirs the hawthorn tree 

As it sweeps the leaves in a mournful sigh ; 
Hardly a sound in the mystery — 
When the ghosts go by. 

Riding out of the haze and the gloom, 

The rhythmic fall of the horse's hoof — 
The moon a feather of lilac bloom 
Over the moss-grown roof. 

White, white they pass through the old inn 
door, 
Their faces strange in the light o' the moon — 
And strange the tread on the rotting floor 
Of their ghostly shoon ! 



30 From Quiet Valleys 

THE GARDEN OF THE SEA 

It lies so blue against the flush of day, 
A sullen sapphire in a fairy zone, 
Then catching of the dawn as 'twere its own 

It ripples in a sheen of gold and gray ; 

Wraiths of red roses melting far away 
In limpid green, as if the sea were sown 
With lovely blooms of every color-tone, 

Wooed by a western wind and all a-sway. 

Gold of the sun and purple Tyrian, 

Flame of a kiss and fleeting as the dew, 
Glimpses of Eden where the lights steal 
through, 
Garden of Paradise beyond earth's span — 
And like that garden born amid the dawn, 
The day creeps on and all the flowers are 
gone. 



From Quiet Valleys 31 

COVERT 

Bird-song and wind together, 

And the hush of a southern sea, 
The echoes falling, the twilight calling, 

Softly calling to me ; 
The distant pastures gleam with splashes of 
silver dew, 
And a straight road goes to the greenwood 
close — 
And a lure cries out to you. 

There in a shady haven, 

In the cool of the budding things, 
With breezes tuning and faintly crooning 

The hymn of a thousand Springs — 
There we shall quite forget the moil of a dusty 
day, 
And drunken deep in a spring-time sleep 
Shall squander the night away. 



32 From Quiet Valleys 

All in the vernal weather 

And the lap of the sighing mere, 
The red dawn breaking, the forest waking, 

And a path that leads from here — 
Yet never a care have we where the faring now 
must lie, 
We can face the rain and the world again, 
And laugh with the April sky ! 



From Quiet Valleys 33 

APRIL 

Throughout the vale again Narcissus cries 
And Echo answers from her dark retreat, 
While Zephyr, heavy-laden with the sweet, 

Fresh scent of blooms, across the pasture hies ; 

Above the blueness of the April skies, 

Matched by the lure unto the wandering feet 
That e'er must go ere Spring could be 
complete 

To the green wood where laughing Eros lies. 

O April lover, hear the pipes that call, 
The pipes of Pan a-blowing lustily ; 

They call to you and me, and he who hears 
Must ever after be Young April's thrall — 
So faring thus together we shall see 
The Islands of the Blest between the 
Spheres ! 



34 From Quiet Valleys 

I SHALL FORGET 

I shall forget what once had seemed so sweet, 
No more the breath of lilac in the Spring 
Shall turn my heart to old remembering, 
Or stir its beat. 

But I at last shall know a mystery ; 

Winter grow wan and April change to May, 
Yet there will be no haunting yesterday 
To trouble me. 

Free as the wind and empty of regret, 

Tasting anew the joys that once slipped by, 
Draining the dregs of life without a sigh — 
I shall forget. 



From Quiet Valleys 35 



HOME 



Over the sea you will journey far, 

The waves call out and the goal is there — 

Will you forget where the roses are, 
The breath of the soft, sweet air ? 

The cry of life it calls out to you, 

The cry of life with success at end — 

Will you remember the stretch of blue, 
So blue where the branches bend ? 

For Spring will come as it always came, 
And Summer pass with a wealth of gold, 

The long, long hills in an Autumn flame, 
The smell of leafy mould. 

In stony streets of your wandering, 

Where all is earned with a burning sweat, 

And no one knows of the greening Spring — 
Ah, there will you quite forget ? 



36 From Quiet Valleys 

Or will you turn with the haven won, 
The prize attained and the balance free, 

Turn to the east and the rising sun, 
With thoughts for the old roof-tree ? 

Over the sea you will journey far, 
But this I know, in some distant day 

You will find the place where the roses are, 
And home, the end of the way ! 



From Quiet Valleys 37 

THE DOOR OF SPRING 

Close not your door — the world is glad with 
Spring, 
And through the lane there falls a silent snow, 
Hither and thither where the petals blow, 
Blown from the apple-branches blossoming ; 
Sweet, sweet the scents the drowsy breezes bring 
Of greening forests where the first flowers 

grow, 
Sweeter the stream-song, murmuring and 
low — 
Joy in the world, and love in everything. 

Close not your door — for on the winding way 
There yet may come a lonely traveler, 
Who little knows of Spring or aught of her 

Great wonderment — aught of the wealth of 
May; 
Oh, open wide your heart, nor dream of cares, 
Thus may you shelter angels unawares ! 



38 



From Quiet Valleys 



WITHAL 

What if the miles stretch out and bar 
That you and I should meet ? Why, even still 
You are beneath this very moon and star 
Which I am watching from my lonely hill, 
And I can say low with a happy thrill : 
You are not far, dear heart, you are not far. 






From Quiet Valleys 39 



WHITE LILAC 



From out the mart of Long Ago 
To you these blooms I bring; 

The year *s at May and in a row 
The trees are blossoming. 

The year's at May and still the wind 

Adown the lilac-lane 
Blows as it used— If we should find 

The olden days again ! 

For all the trees are blossoming 

Out in a fragrant row, 
There is no change in anything, 

Yet we have altered so. 

Yet well, mayhap, these blooms of May 

Will stir the heart of you, 
And you know naught but yesterday, 

And I, a dream -come-true ! 



40 cm Quiet Vallz 

MY GARDEN 

Winds of the world, you cannot reach me here, 
Strong ivied walls hold fast my garden-close, 
Only dream-zephyrs stir amid the rose, 

Drowsy with all the fragrance of the year ; 

Over the stone the sleepy cypress rear 
Their heavy branches patient in repose, 
Kissed by the gold of endless twilight glows 

Guarding my garden from a world of fear. 

Yet at the gate I stand a little while, 
Silent before the door of Paradise, 

Waiting but for the answer of your smile, 
Deep-mirrored in the depth of wondrous 
eyes — 

Then all the world away and all its pain, 

And you and I, and Eden back again ! 






From Quiet Valleys 41 

HARBOR 

When in the twilight of the even-time 

Frail colors drift beyond the western space, 

And silently the moon begins to climb 
The azure stretches of her tiring place, 
I seem to see your face ! 

Or, sometimes, in the hushes of the dawn — 
Mayhap, 'tis but a breeze all idly blown 

Across my cheek, so sweet and swiftly gone — 
And yet it seems the moment I had known 
Your lips upon my own ! 

Do you come back from out the vale of years, 
Back from the grave — and this your lonely 
quest, 

That I should have a haven for my tears 
And know, at last, how still it is to rest, 
As then, upon your breast ! 



42 From Quiet Valleys 

NOCTURNE 

Sleep after love is done — afar the west 

Smiles softly, though the sun has sunk to rest — 

Ah, this were best; 
The flaming noon-hour we shall never know, 

No more, the glow. 

Sleep after love is done and peace at last, 
Beyond, the wind-swept sea, the stormy blast, 

All, all is past ; 
The harbor calm, the ships home from the deep,, 

And we, asleep ! 



From Quiet Valleys 43 

I KNOW A QUIET VALE 

I know a quiet vale where faint winds blow 
The silver poplar-branches all awry, 
And ne'er another sound comes drifting by 

Save where the stream's cool waters softly flow, 

Wild roses riot there and violets throw 

Their perfume recklessly, the while on high 
Great snowy clouds pillow the smiling sky 

And cast frail shadows on the grass below. 

All is the same, the summer stillness dreams 

In idleness across the sunny leas, 
Until for very drowsiness it seems 

The wind has gone to sleep within the trees — 
Yet we once laughed at what the years might 

bring, 
And now I am alone, remembering. 



44 From Quiet Valleys 

THE STREAM 

Hidden haunts of mystery 
Ever do you show to me. 

Here where upland pastures lie 
Dappled by the summer sky, 
Faintly throbbing to the strain 
From the harp-strings of the grain - 
Here, you lift your wander-call 
And I follow on, a thrall. 

Under pine-tree covering, 
Whither winds their censers swing, 
Ferny frond and mossy lace 
Luring to a resting-place 
By a pool of amethyst, 
Where the water-lilies list 
To the rapture musical 
Of a thrush's madrigal. 






From Quiet Valleys 45 

Or by banks of furze and thyme 
Harkening your pebbles' chime — 
Flashing rifts of silver glow 
Through the grasses come and go, 
Purple iris mock the trees 
With gay color-harmonies. 
And your golden treasures rare, 
Prodigal and everywhere, 
Make my lovely questings seem 
Like the mazes of a dream 
Till, at last, I almost stand 
On the edge of fairy-land. 

And beyond — what can there be . . . 
Do you lead to Arcady ! 



46 From Quiet Valleys 

BEFORE A DELPHIC SHRINE 

Here upon your marble, dewy roses, 

Wreaths of laurel and the close-curled thyme, 

Azure violets whose bloom encloses 
Murmurous the echo of a rhyme. 

Dripping, reddened roses dreamy-laden, 
Where the purple wine has spilled upon, 

Sacred to each chaste, deific maiden, 
Who illume the heights of Helicon. 

These, I make my rapturous oblation, 
Throw my laurel on the incense-fire, 

Listening in silent adoration 

To the music of your singing lyre. 

And unto your altar, from each season 

Rarer floral chaplets will I bring, 
Joy of loveliness the only reason — 

Joy of all the Summer and the Spring! 



From Quiet Valleys 47 

THE POET 

For one great Queen who sits in majesty, 
Untouched, austere, upon a golden throne, 
The like whose wonderment was never known 

Of ebony and rose and ivory, — 

For her you weave a broidered tapestry, 
Rife with rich stains of every color-tone 
Inwrought; while she immovable as stone 

But watches pitiless and silently. 

Yet, should this Queen of Beauty lift her arm 
And take your broidered web, — ah, then the 
prize, 
The vast reward for all the scars and shame, 
For in the moment as a mystic charm 
The cloth is changed to porphyry, and lies 
Forever on her breast a frozen flame ! 



48 From Quiet Valleys 

SOMETIMES 

Across the fields of yesterday 

He sometimes comes to me, 

A little lad just back from play — 
The lad I used to be. 

And yet he smiles so wistfully 
Once he has crept within, 

I wonder he still hopes to see 
The man I might have been. 









From Quiet Valleys 49 



NIGHT 



On purple wings she cleaves the dusk, 
Far winnowing and silver-veined, 
Her sombre mantle rankly stained 

By juices of the moon-flower's musk. 

While in each hand, two garlands she 
Holds close against her bosom's swell 
Of poppy-flame and asphodel, 

Blossoms of drowsy mystery. 

Her eyes are like twin pools at morn, 
Or softer than a twilit sky 
That lights in amethystine dye 

The gates of ivory and horn. 

And as a lingering caress 

Born in the soundless vales of peace, 
Her smile is laden with surcease, 

With slumber and forgetfulness. 



50 From Quiet Valleys 

Will you not sip her dreamy wine 
Of asphodel and poppy-bloom 
To wander through the starless gloom 

Across the meads of Proserpine ? 

Or in that rest from all alarms, 
Save for a murmur of the sea, 
Forfeit the moments recklessly 

Within the harbor of her arms ? 



From QuIet Valleys 51 

PASTORAL 

Tall trees their coolness shed along the way, 
The bee booms in the clover, and the drone 
Of locusts in a drowsy monotone 

Startles the slumber of the summer day ; 

Over the grasses truant shadows play, 

Frail shreds of gossamer on breezes blown, 
And through the meadow, pensive and alone, 

Bickers a little woodland brook astray. 

We two, we two in all the golden weather, 
Lulled by the fragrance of sweet-laden smells, 

The world forgot, just you and I together, 
And far the sound of silver shepherd-bells — 

And far as out upon a fairy sea 

We slip away to Youth and Arcady ! 



52 From Quiet Valleys 

REVERIE 

The Night has lost her gage within the pool 

And wide-eyed she, 
As pass the hours, beside the waters cool 

Stalks wistfully. 

Blue shadows of gray trees mid golden mist, 

Tower after tower, 
Are caught the while in liquid amethyst 

With one moon-flower. 

But she wots not the shadow-trees afloat 

Gray gold between, 
Only she notes her flower — a little boat 

Upon the sheen. 

And when the yellow moon grown pale with age 

Sinks in the gray, 
She sees, oh, strange ! — deep in the pool her gage 

Drowned for aye. 



From Quiet Valleys 53 

WILL-O'-THE-WISP 

Whither the marshes spread their glow 
The fitful fireflies come and go, 
Weaving a web of amber spun 
From out the meshes of the sun. 

While through the faint and throbbing gloom 
Sad Twilight plies her busy loom, 
And as a spendthrift sorcerer 
Changes the west to lavender — 

To burnished gold and witching jade 
Of gossamer and soft brocade 
By crimson threads all intertwined 
And lavishly with silver lined. 



54 From Quiet Valleys 

But Night bears down on raven wings 
Falling in drowsy winnowings — 
A lonely echo from the hill, 
The wild call of the whip-poor-will. 

Yet, do you see beyond the edge 
Of the dim marsh's tangled sedge 
A light that burns with eerie gleam 
Like a white moth within a dream ? 

The moon is hid. The stars are pale. 
A cold mist hangs above the vale. 
Above the vale a dull light's gleam 
Like a dead face upon the stream. 



From Quiet Valleys 55 

Who keeps her tryst on such a night, 
Except some elvish water-sprite, 
Whose eyes across the ghostly weir 
Mock back at me and leer and leer. 

Who mocks and leers because she knows 
Her mouth is but a flaming rose, 
Because her passion-wafted breath 
Shelters the poison-kiss of death. 

Whither the marshes spread their glow, 
Over the tangled sedge I go 
To seek her arms amid the gloom 
And kiss her lips and meet my doom ! 



56 



From Quiet Valleys 



OCTOBER 

Amid a mass of goldenrod she grieves, 

Her raven hair girt back with ruddy gold, 
While in her lap lie colors manifold 

Of which a scarlet crown she idly weaves ; 

And I have seen her stray among the sheaves 
When first the stretches were in yellow stoled, 
And oft o' nights, unmindful of the cold, 

Her light feet tripping through the fallen leaves. 

Her face is drawn and wan from wandering, 
Her russet gown is torn by branch and brier, 

While like some wild and ever-hunted thing 
Her eyes gleam dully in a sullen fire — 

But sometimes softly you can hear her sing, 
And all the echoes answer with desire ! 









From Quiet Valleys 57 

SANCTUARY 

The valley lies in rustic quietude, 

Only the lowing of the distant kine, 
Far, far above, the wooded heights seclude 
A little mystic shrine. 

And here I find my refuge from the world 

Upon this summit where the winds complain, 
The rugged sweeps, the shafts of thunder hurled, 
The stinging of the rain ! 



58 



From Quiet Valleys 



AFTERWARDS 

The stars are like dim torches flickering, 
The moon a paling ghost within the sky, 
Far to the west the shadows swiftly fly, 
Faintly the first birds sing. 

The first birds sing and widening o'er the bay 
The waves grow tarnished to a mass of gold ;, 
And you are very still and white and cold — 
And this, another day ! 



From Quiet Valleys 59 

THRENODY 

Yellow leaves in Autumn-time, 

Yellow leaves and sere — 
Roses are for mating-time, 

Not the dead o' year. 

Roses are for bridal chime 

Ringing soft and clear ; 
Yellow leaves in Autumn-time, 

Yellow leaves and sere. 

Only winds weave out the rhyme — 

"Tis not sweet to hear, 
Roses were not well to climb 

O'er a silent bier — 
Yellow leaves in Autumn-time, 

Yellow leaves and sere ! 



60 From Quiet Valleys 

AMOR MYSTICUS 

When I think of the world and then of you, 
The vast undone, the search unprofited, 
The sunny morning when the skies were red, 

The dreary evening when the day was through ; 

A luring light that always further drew 

And ended with both strength and courage 

fled — 
This of the world where every hope was dead, 

And this to one who made the dreams come true. 

A slender craft I sent upon the wave, 

The dawn was rosy and my heart was glad, 
Nor troubled then that any storms could be ; 
But what the world took strangely back you gave, 
And now I, like a little dream-bound lad, 
See all returned my golden argosy ! 



From Quiet Valleys 61 

AN OLD SONG 

Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky, 
The falling embers and a kettle's croon — 

These three, but oh what sweeter lullaby 
Ever awoke beneath the hunter's moon. 

We know of none the sweeter, you and I, 
And oft we've heard together that old tune — 

Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky, 
The falling embers and a kettle's croon. 



62 From Quiet Valleys 

PASTEL 

I 

The west is streaked with gray and gold, 
The hills are heavy with a mist 
Of purple-gloom and amethyst, 

And all the downs are wan with cold. 

Here in a stream of yellow light 

Some sheep lie huddled from the chill, 
Nor heed the moon's face o'er the hill 

Between the silver bars of night. 

And of a sudden, echoing 
Across the pale October pall, 
Startles unloosed a lone bird's call, 

Like the last cry of vanished Spring ! 



From Quiet Valleys 63 

II 

A line of gold, a shade of withered rose 
Amid the gray — oh, just a little while 

Before the night ; as though day could not close 
Its eyes in sleep without one last sweet smile. 



64 From Quiet Valleys 

INDIAN SUMMER 

Beyond the purple of the western hills 

Through veils of haze, 
Wherefrom this peace, this rest which in me 
thrills — 

Spirit of Autumn Days ? 

Where are the questionings of Summer spent — 
Or are they with my years, lost memories, 
Spirit of Sweet Content ? 

Enough to lie and listen, while the year grows old 

And sadly grieves, 
To that near choir of voices manifold — 

Spirits of Gathered Leaves. 



From Quiet Valleys 65 

THE END OF AUTUMN 

The uplands are aflame in dull maroon, 

And yellow are the fields with ripened grain, 
While every sumac shows a ruddy stain, 

And every tree-top wears a gay festoon; 

Leaves, vari-colored, recklessly are strewn, 
Their gorgeous masses clothing hill and plain 
So soon to feel the merry feet again 

Of rustic dancers 'neath the rising moon. 

All is at best, Nature extends her hand 

And of her bounty gives this lavish dower; 

The sunlight smiles upon the favored land, 
Autumn, the moment, knows her perfect 
flower — 

But comes a little wind across the lea, 

Fitful and chill, a silent prophecy ! 




oct 26 190? 



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